or opened.

"Pepita!"

***

To describe such a meeting is simply out of the question.

"I knew you would come," said she, after about one solid hour, in
which not a single intelligible word was uttered.

"And for you! Oh, Pepita!"

"You do not think now that I was cruel?" and a warm flush
overspread the lovely face of the young girl.

"Cruel!" (and Dick makes her see that he positively does not think
so).

"I could not do otherwise."

"I love you too well to doubt it."

"My brother hated you so. It would have been impossible. And I
could not wound his feelings."

"He's a splendid fellow, and you were right."

"Padre Liguori showed him what you were, and I tried to explain a
little," added Pepita, shyly.

"Heaven bless Padre Liguori! As for you--you--"

"Don't."

"Well, your brother understands me at last. He knows that I love
you so well that I would die for you."

Tears came into Pepita's eyes as the sudden recollection arose
of Dick's misadventure on the road.

***

"Do you remember," asked Dick, softly, after about three hours
and twenty minutes--"do you remember how I once wished that I was
walking with you on a road that would go on forever?"

"Yes."

"Well, we're on that track now."

[The Historian of these adventures feels most keenly his utter
inadequacy to the requirements of this scene. Need he say that
the above description is a complete _fiasco_? Reader, your
imagination, if you please.]

CHAPTER LVII.

THE DODGE CLUB IN PARIS ONCE MORE.--BUTTONS'S "JOLLY GOOD HEALTH."

Not very long after the events alluded to in the last chapter a
brilliant dinner was given in Paris at the "Hotel de Lille et
d'Albion." On the arrival of the Senator and Buttons at Paris they
had found Mr. Figgs and the Doctor without any trouble. The meeting
was a rapturous one. The Dodge Club was again an entity, although
an important member was not there. On this occasion the one who gave
the dinner was BUTTONS!

[Illustration: He's A Jolly Good Fellow.]

All the delicacies of the season. In fact, a banquet. Mr. Figgs
shone resplendently. If a factory was the sphere of the Senator,
a supper-table was the place for Mr. Figgs. The others felt that
they had never before known fully all the depth of feeling, of
fancy, and of sentiment that lurked under that placid, smooth, and
rosy exterior. The Doctor was epigrammatic; the Senator sententious;
Buttons uproarious.

Dick's health